“What have you got to feel guilty for?”
“A million things...nothing at all. You don’t need to hear my confession, Lou. I’m going to Singapore, not dying. And my sins aren’t all that unusual.”
“What are they? Did you do something cowardly during the war? It’s nothing to be ashamed of—you’re only human. Everyone gets scared sometimes.”
“I was scared spitless most of the time, Lou, but no, I didn’t do anything cowardly. Besides, I was a war correspondent—my job was to report, not to kill. It made things easier. Maybe.”
“Or maybe it made things harder,” she said, kneeling down by the sofa. She needed to touch him. She didn’t want to wake the baby, but she needed to feel the warmth of his flesh beneath her hand. She was so cold, so very cold.
“So why the guilt, Jack? If it was guilt that you didn’t kill people, get over it.”
She startled a reluctant grin from him. “No, it’s not guilt that I didn’t kill people. I’m damned grateful I don’t have to live with that.”
“Then what is it?”
“None of your damned?—”
“I need to know. Jack. Don’t you think you owe me that much?” She wasn’t sure how he’d react. She wasn’t sure why she thought he owed her anything, or why he might think he did.
“Jimmy’s dead,” he said finally, “and I’m alive.”
His bleak tone silenced her for a moment. “Survivor’s guilt,” she said finally. “It’s understandable...”
“Spare me that crap,” he said harshly, never raising his voice. “I could live with Jimmy’s death. I lost too damned many friends as it is, and I can live with it.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I can’t live with wanting Jimmy’s girl. I won’t take what he can’t have, I won’t steal his happy ending.”
She sat back on her heels, staring at him. “You sexist pig,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Obviously you’ve never heard that term before,” she said caustically. “If you weren’t running away, I’d give you plenty of chances to get used to it.”
“What are you so mad about?” he snapped. “I just told you I...wanted you. You should be flattered.”
“Flattered that you’re lusting after me? Thanks, but I’ve got a mirror. Tallulah Abbott is definitely lust-worthy material—why do you think Neddie wants to marry her?” She didn’t stop to consider how odd that sounded, referring to Lou in the third person.
She rose to her full height, the high heels killing her ankles, and stared down at him in cool disdain. “What I object to is you considering me some sort of war trophy. To the victor goes the spoils—at least, to the survivor. I’m not someone to be passed around to the most deserving war hero, dead or alive. I’m not a household decoration, I’m not a teenage sweetheart, I’m not a madonna and I’m damned well not a whore. I’m a woman. Jack McGowan. My own person, belonging to no one. A woman with brains and talents and needs and love. And I don’t care how guilty you feel—you can learn to live with it You can learn to live with?—”
“There you are!” Cousin Ginny, harassed and grateful, rushed into the room, stopping her in the midst of her declaration. “I can’t thank you enough for watching Krissie for me, Jack I was so terrified when I couldn’t find her, and no one else seemed to care.” She reached down and carefully scooped the sleeping baby from Jack’s chest and tucked her in her arms. The baby slept on, dead to the world.
“They cared, Ginny,” he said gently, pushing himself off the sofa. “I’m just a little better at finding lost souls.”
She wanted to escape. It was one tiling, looming over him as he lay sprawled on the sofa, another to have him on his feet, towering over her. Making her feel small and needy, reminding her of how vulnerable she was. To him. Ginny was still babbling her thanks, blocking the doorway to the rest of the house, but the terrace door was still open, and she took a surreptitious step backward. He moved around the mother and child quite deftly, catching her arm before she could make her escape.
Everyone was always putting their hands on her. But it was only Jack’s hands that felt gentle, comforting. The others were trying to grab her, force her to do what they wanted. Jack’s hands were strong but tender. Forcing her to do what she wanted.
And then Ginny and her baby were gone, and she was alone with him in the darkness. “I can learn to live with what, Lou?” he said softly.
In the distance she could hear Neddie’s voice, loud and blustery, and Elda’s musical laugh. The band was playing “Night and Day,” and she wanted to moan in protest There was something undeniably erotic about “Night and Day,” and she’d never been able to resist it.
She said nothing, staring up at him in the darkness, wanting him so badly her knees felt weak.
“I can learn to live without you?”
She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. He reached up and cupped her face, tilting her head back. She could feel tears slipping beneath her closed eyelids, and she held her breath, waiting, her heart pounding, waiting, needing, wanting.
